The Flower that Never Fades
by IamDoctorWholocked
Summary: The date is the 22nd of December and Sherlock seems more miserable than ever. John is frustrated but what he doesn't realise is that he's about to learn the truth behind Sherlock's sociopathic tendencies. Implied Sherlock/oc. Set before SIB. One-shot.


**The Flower that Never Fades**

Xxx

_This is a Sherlock/oc fic that I've wanted to write for a little while. It's basically the reason Sherlock's a sociopath. It's a bit sad._

_Disclaimer: __characters do not belong to me. They were originally created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and in their current form by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat._

Xxx

The date was the 22nd of December. The world was filled with Christmas cheer and yet, thought John, Sherlock seemed more miserable than ever.

He was sitting on the sofa, deep in thought. John could tell by the way his hands danced across the table by their own accord. They traced a complicated but beautiful pattern in the dust, his hands moved faster and faster until he slapped them down on the table making a loud noise startling John and Sherlock himself. His eyes glanced at the design he'd made before looking up with a mournful expression and said,

"December the 22nd, John."

He then sighed and let his gaze flit to the outside world. Snow was falling and the light shone through the window. John was truthfully rather worried about Sherlock. His friends was acting strangely today. He sat at the end of the sofa trying to find an explanation to the strange comment about the date.

"Um- yes, December 22nd. Got a problem with Christmas?" He teased, trying to start with a light note but he was honestly curious.

"I don't have anything wrong with Christmas." Sherlock stated sounding rather frustrated.

"Oh?"

"December 22nd." He repeated.

John tried to find an event, anything of importance, that happened today but none immediately rose to mind. Giving up, he decided to make some tea (John's solution to any problem) and rose to leave. It was then he noticed a large binder sitting on the floor next to Sherlock. It looked old but someone had obviously kept it in good condition. He picked it up noticing on the front cover it read;

"Amarante Rivera Holmes."

"Sherlock?" Asked John, "What's this?"

No response was heard so John decided a peak at the book couldn't hurt. He opened the cover saw another inscription but this time it read;

"To my darling flower that never fades.

-SH"

Looking to the next page John saw pictures. Lots of them. What was strange however was the fact that they were all just of one woman. She was young and beautiful with her pale skin, shy expression and long dark brown hair that reached all the way to her waist. The first picture was simply labelled "The Concert". The girl was standing in front of a grand piano, looking pleased but rather overwhelmed. He couldn't see the rest of the stage as the girl had been cut out from a larger photo but he got the feeling she was looking at something to her right.

John was just about to turn the page when Sherlock seemed to materialize beside him and snatched the book away. He clutched it to his chest, a pained expression on his face.

"What is that?" Demanded John, "Why do you have it?"

"It's a photo album, obviously. And it's _mine._ Don't be stupid." Snapped Sherlock, attempting to distract John away from the book and argue back at him instead.

John was an army doctor however. He was used to peoples' anger or sadness, sometimes both, and right now he could see that underneath Sherlock's entire cold and heartless act, something was broken. A broken heart. Something had happened long ago and Sherlock had chosen to bottle it up. Well today John could tell that plan was backfiring.

Sure enough, a small sob managed to escape Sherlock's lips. John put his arm around the taller man, wondering what had brought this on.

"What's wrong Sherlock?" He asked again.

His phone suddenly beeped and John reached into his pocket. Looking at the screen he could see it was from Mycroft Holmes. Probably had the flat bugged as Sherlock always said.

_Wait with him. He'll tell you everything eventually. Let him know I've sending Lestrade over._

_-MH_

Okay, he _definitely _had the flat bugged.

The message was confusing. Tell him what? And Lestrade was coming? Why?

"Mycroft's sending Lestrade over."

Sherlock's head stayed down, eyes fixed on the album.

"He wants me to tell you."

It wasn't a question. Obviously Sherlock had been expecting this for some time.

"Tell me what?"

Sherlock raised his head to looked at him and John saw anger, sadness and alot of pain etched onto his face.

"Tell you why I shun company. Tell you why I'm cold. Tell you why I'm a sociopath."

Xxx

When Lestrade had arrived the first thing he did was clap Sherlock on the shoulder.

"I told you to tell John. It's worse now. Especially today of all days."

"What?" Questioned John for what felt like the 100th time today.

"Shall I start?" Lestrade asked. He shot Sherlock a look. "Yeah, I'll start."

He dropped onto the chair.

"I don't really know exactly everything. I wasn't there at the start. -Or the end." He added after a moment.

"You're right." Interrupted Sherlock.

"Huh?"

"You're right." Sherlock got up and walked to the fireplace which he leant against. "You don't know enough. Only I do."

He breathed in; ready to tell the story he had kept hidden for many years.

"It all started when I was at University. Oxford to be specific but that doesn't mat-"

"You were at Oxford?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Shouldn't be surprised." Muttered John, "But I'm shocked you didn't 'delete' everything you learnt."

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. It quickly faded. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly.

"Yes, well. At University I...I-I met a girl." He heard John's sharp intake of breath and continued, "The most beautiful, amazing girl you can imagine."

"How did you meet?" John interrupted, _again._

Sherlock shot him an embarrassed look.

"I knocked her over."

John snorted.

"She was late for a Forensics Biology Lecture, not looking where she was going. I was bored so I deduced her and walked away."

"Charmer," Mumbled John.

"I never expected to see her again." Explained Sherlock, "Until the concert that night."

He tapped the first picture.

"We played together. A duet. Claude Debussy-Sonata." His expression turned wistful. "She was an amazing player. Piano. After the concert we had a chat outside. Gave her a proper, big deduction. Strangely she was curious rather than disturbed. She asked me to the senior dance. As friends. Oh, how mistaken she was."

Sherlock turned the page to another picture, this time the girl was in a short but very posh, blue dress. Her hair was loose again. Her hand was extended as if she was telling someone to grab it but once again the picture was cut to show just her.

"Things flew from there. She was pretty, clever and had a passion for her work. Woman after my own heart." He smiled again, briefly. "But I wanted to leave Oxford. I wanted to solve cases in London. Be a Consulting Detective. I asked her to come but she was only two months away from finishing her PHD. She couldn't just leave. However I did and waited for two, long, tedious months. I'd already met Lestrade then. His cases kept me sane. Eventually she arrived though. On my doorstep, dressed in a delicate, white dress, ready to move in. She had done Forensics Biology so we solved hundreds of cases together. There were holidays, picnics, parties, you name it. There were even weddings.

John gasped again.

"Weddings? You're.. you're married?"

Yes. I proposed in a rather- ah, _unusual _way but still she accepted. How could she not? We were already so in love, promised to each other for life."

He sighed, lost in the memory.

John was lost in the memory too. It all seemed so happy. But then he remembered why they were discussing this. Sherlock's mournful expression, Mycroft's serious text.

"Where is she now?" He asked, worried he already knew the answer.

Sherlock sighed, sadly this time.

"That's where it goes wrong you see."

He shook his head.

"No- not wrong. Everything was perfect. Wonderful, blissful, peaceful. _Happy."_

He buried his head in his hands, overcome by emotion. John handed him a cup of warm tea. When Sherlock looked up again, his face was devastated.

"It was my fault. All my fault."

John wanted to comfort Sherlock but how could he when he didn't know the entire story yet. Instead Lestrade did.

"No it wasn't Sherlock! You of all people know how much solving crimes with you meant to Amarante. She wanted to be there. Nothing was your fault."

Sherlock obviously disagreed but nodded none the less and continued.

"There was a case. A fascinating, interesting, twisted case. We were drawn to it immediately. Boredom was getting the better of both of us- even Amarante, with her wonderful patience. We spent days on it, taking occasional naps but most of our brainpower was on the case."

He paused. John had a feeling Sherlock had never discussed this with anyone before. Neither Lestrade or Mycroft yet here he was telling John.

"We didn't realise..." He whispered, "How the case was just a distraction from the larger plot."

His voice hardened.

"We chased the killer across London. Soon we had him cornered in an alley. The homeless network had already alerted the police what was happening. There was no way the killer could escape. No way but one. He grabbed Amarante, pulling her beside him. It was then he revealed a bomb strapped to his jacket. The bomb was no danger as it wasn't set to explode but if I shot it... I couldn't shoot. It would kill Amarante too. He started to back away ready to run but he didn't realise Amarante wasn't afraid of death. He didn't believe she would shoot him herself. Who would? It was a suicidal act. She was so brave though. She looked at me, whispering I love you as she pulled the trigger.

The bomb exploded. I was thrown across the alley and knocked unconscious. I...I never got to say goodbye."

His voice broke so overcome by emotion. Emotion he'd been trying to hide all these years. Emotion that was never going to leave him. He still missed her immensely. John could tell.

"Her name means the flower that never fades. It's... it's true. She has never faded from my heart."

There was a mournful silence.

"December the 22nd?" John asked, finally understanding why this date was so important.

Sherlock nodded. He didn't speak. He was lost in his memories. Memories hidden in his mind palace from long, long ago.

Xxx

The evening sped by quickly. All three men sat on the floor. Lestrade and Sherlock explaining different photographs to John.

At 6o'clock however, Sherlock jumped up suddenly, pulling on his coat. He made to leave but John grabbed his arm. He didn't want Sherlock disappearing into the night. Who knew what Sherlock would get up to? Mycroft had already warned him today was a danger night. Obviously Sherlock's trip through recreational drug use had something to do with his wife's death. John didn't want Sherlock to start again.

"Where are you going?" he asked Sherlock cautiously.

"Out," Sherlock simple stated, making to leave again.

John moved in front of the door. He wanted an answer.

"Where?" He demanded again.

Sherlock sighed.

"You don't trust me. Don't worry, I don't blame you. I just... wanted to visit her grave."

John suddenly felt a bit awkward. Obviously Sherlock would want to visit his wife's grave on the day she died.

"Well come on then." Called John, shrugging on his jacket.

"You're coming too?"

"I can't let you go alone, can I?"

John wasn't sure but he thought he saw some of the sadness in Sherlock's eyes lift.

Xxx

The taxi drive was mainly in silence. The sky had turned dark and Sherlock watched it intently.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." John said, breaking the silence.

Sherlock pretended not to hear and merely ignored John.

"It wasn't," He persisted, "It was the killer's. What Amarante did was very brave and-"

"Please don't John." Sherlock turned to face him, "I don't want you to tell me whether or not I'm guilty. Please."

The talk turned back to silence and continued that way right up until the car stopped.

Xxx

When they arrived, the first thing John noticed was the lack of gloom and doom. Usually graveyards were dark with a felling of despair hanging around. This particular place was bright and the air was happy and free. Instead of graves there were trees. Hundreds of them but each tree was not to close to another. They weren't overcrowded.

Together, the pair of them walked towards a soft, baby pink, cherry blossom swinging in the gentle wind. Different ribbons and bells were tied to each branch. They made soft tinkling sounds. On the tree a heart had been engraved with the letters 'S' and 'A' inside it. A plaque read;

"In remembrance of Amarante Rivera Holmes, the sweetest, most kindest girl in the world who, in her last moments, made the ultimate sacrifice of love.

**Grief**

Grief reached across the world to get me,  
sadness carried me across seas and countries  
to your grave  
to offer the only gift I still can give you -  
words you will not hear.

Fortune has taken you from me. You.  
No reason, nothing fair.  
I didn't deserve losing you.

Now in the silence since,  
as is the ancient custom of our people,  
I say the mourner's prayer,  
do the final kindness.

Accept and understand it.  
My head aches from crying.  
Forever, goodbye.

_Gaius Valerius Catullus_"

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a rose coloured ribbon attached to a small, delicate bell.

"You bring one every time you come?" Asked John, glancing at the tree. There was _alot _of ribbons and bells.

Sherlock nodded.

"Most of them are mine, although some are Lestrade's or Mrs Hudson's."

He carefully reached up and hung the decorations on the tree. It suddenly occurred to John that Sherlock's absences from the flat was not just him solving crimes but him visiting his wife.

Sherlock watched, following John's train of thought.

"Yes, I visit here often. It's a nice place don't you think?"

John agreed.

"It's so peaceful. I suppose that's why you chose it?"

Sherlock gave a small chuckle.

"Amarante was never one to be sad. I remember once, on a crime scene, we had a discussion about why death was treated so darkly. She could understand the sadness but she insisted that graveyards were far too depressing. Death should be treated not only as a tragic thing but also as someone moving on, she said. I knew she'd hate it if she was put in an ordinary graveyard. Then I found this place. It's perfect for her.

She also loves Cherry Blossoms so I had one put here for her. I thought if she was going to have to be..gone- I'd better do it right."

"It's perfect." Reassured John.

Sherlock smiled.

Xxx

When they returned home, John cooked dinner and surprisingly Sherlock ate most of his.

"I suppose Amarante made sure you ate food too." John noted.

Sherlock gave a small laugh.

"Yes, although she often forgot to eat as well when a case got particularly difficult."

"Oh lord, I can just image it. Both on crime scenes, Lestrade begging you to solve it and then you two collapse."

Sherlock smirked, much like himself again.

"Very funny John."

Xxx

The next few days passed smooth enough. There was no more talk of Amarante or the photo album but John caught Sherlock looking at it. Lestrade came with a few cases and Sherlock solved them just as quickly.

It was only on Christmas that the subject was brought up again. Sherlock had woken John with a tune on his violin. It was sad but hopeful- John had never heard it before. When he walked into the living room Sherlock stopped playing and turned around.

"Good morning John."

John nodded in acknowledgment. He walked over to the tree which he'd put up despite Sherlock's many complaints. It seemed Sherlock didn't approve of taking a holiday or as he put it,

"Why should I take a holiday, John? Do you see the criminal world of London taking a holiday?"

Never the less, the tree was up, Mrs Hudson had baked Christmas pudding and presents had been bought. John was fairly surprised when a small, wrapped parcel appeared under the tree addressed to John from Sherlock. Equally, John had bought Sherlock a present but the whole concept of 'surprise' was lost on Sherlock and he quickly deduced what it was.

"Really, John. A new scarf? The one I have is perfectly adequate right now."

John should've been offended but he knew what Sherlock was like. Instead he just folded his arms and replied,

"A thank you would've been nice."

John had a feeling his _other_ present might go down a bit better.

He walked into the kitchen and began making himself a cup of coffee. Sherlock appeared to have forgotten the significance of today. Oh well, John would remind him after breakfast.

As he ate (Sherlock insisted he would be fine without breakfast and continued playing his violin) John wondered if Sherlock would be thinking about Amarante today.

Sherlock stopped playing; of course he would know what John was thinking about. He could probably tell from the way John's gaze turned thoughtful or how his eyes flicked from Sherlock to the shelf where the photo album was kept.

"Yes, I'm thinking about her. It's rather sad really, she loved Christmas. We'd been planning to go away skiing in Italy. We'd been before in France but we had a little joke about trying to travel around the world."

Sherlock gave a sad smile.

"What a second." Said John, "You can ski?"

Sherlock laughed, rather out of character. John had noticed that after discussing Amarante Sherlock seemed to be acting a bit strange but he supposed that was just because he was worried about John's reaction. Sure, John had been surprised- the great sociopathic Sherlock Holmes _married?_ But now he just felt sad. He was also feeling sorry for Sherlock but he tried to hide it. Sherlock hated people feeling sorry for him.

"Yes, I went on many ski holidays when I was a child. Amarante hadn't skied before- I taught her."

His eyes closed for a second, probably remembering that certain holiday. John smiled.

"Hey! Sherlock- presents!"

"Hm?" Asked Sherlock, looking at John confused.

"P-r-e-s-e-n-t-s," Repeated John slowly, "You know? Those things people give to each other at certain periods throughout the year. That thing you just _happened_ to deduce before I had a chance to give it to you?

Sherlock smirked in recognition.

"Oh _yes_! Believe it or not I got you one too."

"I saw." Replied John, nodding towards the tree.

Sherlock picked up the package and handed it to John.

"Well, open it!"

John ripped open the small parcel.

"Oh!" He exclaimed.

Inside was a one year membership to a dating site.

Sherlock smirked again.

"Is that really the only impression you've got of me?" He asked, rather offended.

"No, there's also a packet of chocolates and a new jumper."

"Thanks," John said, grinning, "Now time for your present!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes,

"I already know it's a scarf John!"

"No- you only know one of the presents is a scarf!"

John pressed another present into Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock frowned as he tried to deduce what it was.

"Just open it already!" John said, nudging Sherlock.

He ripped off the wrapping paper.

"Oh!" It was Sherlock's turn to exclaim.

He lifted the present. It was a photograph.

"I realised in your photo album there was only pictures of Amarante. You'd cut out anyone else."

Sherlock looked closely at the picture. It was himself and Amarante laughing together, linked arms. They were outside, at a park and all the leaves on the tress had turned orange. It was one of those rare moments when Sherlock allowed emotion to _really _show.

"I asked Lestrade for a picture of you both. He happened to have a couple on his phone. He thought it would be a good idea too if you had at least _one_ of you too together."

Sherlock smiled a real, happy smile.

"Thank you, John. _Really_."

John grinned back.

"It's just good to see you- show emotion sometimes."

Quickly Sherlock pulled out the photo album and put the new photo next to the others.

"Finally, a Christmas worth celebrating."

Xxx

The evening was spent laughing, drinking and just having plain, old fun. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly and even Mycroft came over for dinner. Sherlock played his violin and John made sure he was polite enough to the guests.

As the evening came to a close and the guests filtered away, John settled down in his chair for a cosy night. He was about to start reading a new book when he saw Sherlock staring out of the window.

"You okay?" He asked.

Sherlock turned to look at him.

"I'm fine John, really. And you know what?"

John shook his head.

"What?"

"I think I've stopped feeling guilty now. What Amarante did was brave and I still miss her alot. But I can see now that it wasn't entirely my fault and perhaps... she wouldn't be happy if I still mourned her so much today."

John breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's one of the best things I've heard all day Sherlock. And you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm your friend."

Sherlock smiled and sat down in the armchair next to John. He talked and speculated with his companion for the rest of the evening. And in the end he had to admit one thing.

He really wasn't a sociopath after all.

Xxx

_Sorry Sherlock's a little occ guys but I wanted to write this. If enough people are interested I really want to write the story of Amarante and Sherlock separately. _

_Thanks for reading- please review if you have time!_


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